A Moment of Reflection

We are midway through tax season.  I am going to deviate from the usual tax topics.  For me, it is a time of reflection. Twenty years ago my Uncle Harold died.  I promised him that I would light a candle on the anniversary of his death.  He was afraid of being forgotten.  The first year I remembered.  I am ashamed to say that for the next eighteen years, in the busyness of raising a family, I forgot. As a way of making amends, here is his story. 

Harold was born April 20, 1923, the only child born to Russian immigrants Hymie and Fannie Jurinsky. He grew up in the Bronx, and like so many other young men of his generation, went into the Army after high school.  Harold was trained as a field medic and spent time in North Africa. In June 1944, Harold was among the first medics to arrive at Normandy.  This is how he described it. “It wasn’t until the third day that medics were allowed on the battlefield.  The area needed to be cleared of mines and areas were roped off where it was safe to walk.  Everywhere the wounded were screaming for water.  We stacked the deceased along the beach, six deep, like firewood.  The pile of bodies went on further than you could see”. After D-Day, Harold traveled across Europe, serving the wounded as Allied troops fought battle after battle. One day they liberated a death camp, Dachau.  Harold refused to discuss his work here, only stating the horror was beyond words.  He was only twenty-two years old. 

After the war, Harold continued serving the wounded as a psychiatric technician for the Veterans Hospitals.  Here he met my Aunt Florence.  Although she had a big heart, and we loved her dearly, Florence was a wild woman who tore through people’s lives like a tornado. She already had two marriages and numerous affairs by the time she married Harold in 1980. We were dumbfounded.  Harold was a gentle, decent and quiet man.  We were fearful for his well-being.  Time proved us to be wrong.  His presence seemed to have a calming influence on Florence.  He voiced that at last, he had what he wanted the most: belonging to a family. Harold died of complications of Parkinson’s on Feb 26, 1994, surrounded by Florence, my father, and my aunt and uncle. 

On Tuesday I will light a candle for Harold, remembering him, and all others who served our country.

Next week: Back to taxes!  You can reach Mary Lawless at http://www.taxteam1.com/ and at 651-343-0234